Say It Like You Mean It
by Kisara-Rini
Summary: For some people, those three little words are the hardest ones to say. Natasha/Clint


Say It Like You Mean It

It was 1:42am on a Wednesday when Natasha finally said those three little words to Clint. Neither one of them had slept in over 48hrs. They were exhausted beyond belief and drenched in what looked like mud (but in actuality was slime from some mutated sewer monster). After being hosed down by the cleanup crew, who weren't sure whether the muck was toxic or not, the two agents retreated to their quarters. Specifically, Natasha's. Clint had been staying with her for a month now. They didn't talk about it; it was just an unspoken arrangement. It was a fact that seemingly all the other S.H.I.E.L.D members were aware of and all, except perhaps Fury, kept to themselves. The director had, on occasion, mentioned the status of these two agents to Maria. Almost as if it were…part of something he had planned. That they were right on schedule. To anyone other than those two, this was—of course—just speculation.

But given that it was Fury, no one was going to be surprised if he had somehow manipulated their whole relationship to begin with.

When Natasha and Clint threw themselves down on top of her bed, Natasha glancing at the clock with delirious curiosity, it was 1:20am. She let out a well earned sigh, and closed her eyes. Her body ached all over and though she hadn't eaten, in god-knows-how-long, she didn't even have the energy to bother searching her room for something to eat. And if she had found anything, she was sure her appetite would quickly disappear. After spending all that time chasing the monster into the sewers, and then into the thing itself, the image of food lost all its appeal.

Clint groaned, curling his legs up closer to his chest. Everything hurt…everywhere. And he was fairly convinced that his right arm was fractured. That could have been his imagination though, and he couldn't care enough, at the moment, to go to the infirmary. Too damn tired. Next to him, Natasha still had her eyes closed and the even rise and fall of her chest made him grin to himself, relieved that she appeared to be sleeping.

It was 1:25am when Clint whispered, "Love you," to her. The sense of overwhelming exhaustion ebbed for a moment, as affection flooded his system.

Lips pursed together, and a strangely focused eye opened from his partner. She gave him a steely look, her expressions freezing into the well-perfected blank gaze that reminded him of a brick wall. "Barton," her harsh voice was strangely alert.

"Hey," he murmured, "I thought you were asleep." Despite himself, he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him. She had a way of making him anxious, not surprisingly. Before they had initiated a…he hesitated to think the word 'relationship'…Clint hadn't been one to feel affected by her standoffish air. Now, however, the silence between them, as she mutely stared him down, was enough to make his chest tighten with foreboding. From the time their lips had first met, and it had been the longest, drawn-out minute of his life, he had developed an unconscious fear that she could end things at any possible moment. He'd opened himself to the vulnerability of it all. The Black Widow…had not.

"That's the fourth time you've said that to me," she muttered, unblinkingly gazing into his eyes; more like a hawk than even he was. "Unless I'm mistaken, and you've developed a habit of saying it while I'm unconscious."

"No, I haven't," he sighed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. _That_ definitely wasn't due to his hunger.

"Well good," she blinked finally, and then turned her gaze to the ceiling. An unwelcome voice ringing in her ears all the while. _Sentiment_

Suppressing a shiver, Natasha swallowed—the only movement that was any indication that she was anything other than completely in control of herself. Clint's eyes were still on her, possibly picking up the subtle crack in her façade. "You know, I think it's about time you refer to me by my name."

"I do."

"My first name." He was pushing his luck, and he knew it. But after this being—yes—the fourth time he'd uttered those words (under various circumstances), and the fourth time they had been brushed aside, (the first of those times involving her slapping him across the face and walking out of the room, only to not speak to him for the rest of the day) he figured he had nothing left to lose.

She glanced at him, not turning her head to face him, "Alright, Clint…you're right." A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, only a hint of what he was truly feeling managed to reach the surface. Natasha looked away from him and at the clock once more. It was now 1:34am, and what they needed the most was to be unconscious. "You're delirious, Clint," she muttered to him, "we should try to sleep."

"So…we're never going to talk about it, are we?" They hadn't talked about the first incident of it since then either.

"Now is really not the time." She rolled onto her side, back to him, arms drawn in against her chest, and heart beating more quickly than normally. "Good night."

"Yeah," he seemed to say to himself, before also turning over onto his side. His hand reached behind him, lightly touching the small of her back. "Good night, Natasha."

She clenched her eyes shut, willing her exhaustion to overcome her as she bit back pained feelings of both fear and longing. However, sometimes when a person is _that_ tired, sleep is ironically elusive.

And so, after a few strained minutes, sleep was even further away and the thoughts she had been holding back like a dam…began to break through her in her weakened state, pouring out like a torrent of emotion. How Clint had been the one person in her life that had deemed her worthy of a second chance. How just the sight of him reminded her that there were still good people in the world. And how on her worst days, when she felt more and more like an outsider that didn't even belong with the misfits of S.H.I.E.L.D., a smile of his could dig her out of her deepest holes. And he had never once asked for anything from her in return. He was her dearest friend. Someone she could honestly trust with her life. If there was ever someone she could risk exposing herself to…intimately—and that wasn't to say in a physical way—it would be him. What she feared…what Loki knew she feared…was letting her guard down. Allowing someone to see behind that wall she kept up for the rest of the world. Being vulnerable, if only for a second. She'd never been able to have even that brief of a respite in her line of work. It wasn't control of her body that was the source of all this fear, as she knew very well she couldn't afford that; it was control of her mind, her true feelings…her heart…that terrified her. She'd never found someone she could actually trust with it. And she hadn't wanted to. Until now.

"Clint," she rolled over, saying it as if in a sudden panic. Maybe it was the delirium that had brought it all about; had broken her defenses enough to let her muddled mind mull it over. Whatever the reason was, Natasha knew that now—right now—was the time and place to confront her fears. It had been well over a month since she'd let Loki get to her, and she was tired of holding onto that. And Clint had so graciously provided her with an opportunity to let it go. This time, whatever the reason was, she was ready to do just that.

"Hmm?" Clint barely responded, and hadn't moved, as his fatigued had finally managed to lull him almost to sleep.

"I…" her eyes widened as fear began to claw its way up her throat. She swallowed again, choking it down and trying to blink the image of Loki looming over her, with taunting words, out of her mind's eye. He had seen such emotion as a weakness, and so had she. In fact, the more and more their conversation played over in her head, and the more she was unconsciously forced to think about him, the more it struck her how similar they were. And the last thing she wanted was to continue to feel as if she had more in common with _him_ than anyone else.

"I love you too," Natasha finally admitted, relief beginning to warm her hardened heart. Now that she had said it, it felt like the simplest and most obvious thing in the world. And instead of shrinking away from the openness she now felt…the vulnerability of it all…she embraced it. The heavy burden that had been weighing her down had suddenly vanished. She could breathe more easily now.

Clint's eyes snapped open, and feeling wide awake now, he turned over to face her. His stunned expression met her shyly smiling one. "I think I always have," Natasha spoke, realizing it for herself as the words left her mouth. She reached a hand up to stroke the side of his still speechless face as she spoke. Unsure if he was dreaming this or not, Clint continued to stare at her in wonder until she inched closer to him and ever so slowly, yet more surely than ever before, she pressed her lips to his. Clint's eyes fluttered shut, and he smiled into the kiss as the digital clock on the night stand read 1:44am.

Needless to say, they didn't fall asleep for another few hours.


End file.
